


Friends Like These

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bad Decisions, Best Friends, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Breasts, Choking, Clubbing, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Erections, F/F, F/M, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fondling, French Kissing, Friends to Lovers, Girls Kissing, Kissing, Lesbian Sex, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nudity, Oral Sex, Orgasm, POV First Person, Passion, Penis In Vagina Sex, Penises, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Simultaneous Orgasm, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Virginity, Vomiting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27035071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: College student (and virgin) Ginger comments to her best friend Rebecca that she thinks the only way she'll ever get laid is if she gets raped. Becks takes that comment and runs with it, planning an eventful night for her closest friend.Now two chapters!
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Ginger's Point of View

**Author's Note:**

> This story might be suspending reality a bit, but it's a fun bit of escapism. And just a note: I'm not advocating any of the choices that are/were made by the characters, or any of the events that are described.
> 
> Enjoy! (The second chapter is from Rebecca's point of view.)

The seaside club, called The Dry Dock, was Rebecca's suggestion. Because I was pretty new to the club scene, I deferred to her experience. I did know the nickname for the dance club, though – the "Dry Hump."

I was also pretty new to shopping for "clubbing" attire. Becks helped me out in that regard, too, accompanying me to the mall. We stopped in The Gap and Old Navy, Aeropostale and Forever 21 – all places I'd never been able to shop in before, because they didn't have clothes in my size. But that was before I'd lost almost sixty pounds.

"That is so cuuuute!" Becks squealed, when I came out of the fitting room in the gauzy white "cold shoulder" top and the short black skirt. "That's the perfect outfit for the club Saturday night!"

"You think?" I pulled at the skirt, which ended above my knees. "It's not too short?"

"Puh-leeze!" Becks grabbed me, pulling me in front of the full-length mirror. "Look at you! You look a-mazing. You're delish!"

In the looking glass, I saw a slim, blonde girl in stylish clothes. I was surprised by how good she looked. I smiled; the blonde girl in the mirror smiled back. I struck a pose, jutting out my hip and tossing my hair, attempting a coy look. Rebecca squealed again.

I almost didn't recognize this new body. I had dieted for months. When I would fall off the wagon and overeat, I'd take laxatives or purge. If I had no plans on the weekends – and I usually didn't – I'd stay in bed and not eat at all; if I did get up, like to use the bathroom, I would actually feel faint and see spots. Neither my parents nor my doctor knew of my extreme tactics, but they'd been so worth it.

I'd never been delish before.

* * *

The club was _loud_. Pulsing lights flashed with the beat of the music, usually something frenzied and danceable. There were bodies _every_ where. Grinding, kissing, touching, slow-dancing to the fast music. I stared at a couple, two girls, who were pressed so close together it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. They were French-kissing passionately and running their hands over each other, from breasts on down. They seemed unaware or unconcerned that anyone might be looking at them, and I watched their roaming hands with a sense on envy. To have someone touch me like that, make me feel like that. . . 

Becks pulled at my arm. "Stop staring," she yelled above the music. Then she paused, and looked at me uncertainly. "Unless you want that?" She pointed at the amorous lesbians.

"No! I mean – no!" Becks knew I was a virgin, an almost unknown thing at twenty-two, at least in our college town. I'd been overweight almost my whole life, gaining the weight at age five while being treated for childhood leukemia. When I'd recovered enough to finally start Kindergarten (a year later than I should have), I had still been chubby, and had only gotten heavier. My "fat" status had definitely hurt my dating possibilities in high school, and I had been determined that college would not follow the same path. Once I'd started slimming down I _had_ been dating more regularly, but no boy had ever gotten past foreplay. Oddly, I hadn't really wanted any of them to. Becks and I had talked about that, about how I was worried that there was something wrong with me. It wasn't surprising that my best friend thought I might be gay.

Rebecca shook her head at my defensive response. "Whatever, chickie. Let's get a drink."

Becks went to the bar, while I scoped out a table. I found a tall round table with no seats; at least we could place our drinks on it. I'd been standing there, searching the crowd for Becks, when a guy closer to thirty than to twenty was suddenly in my face.

"Ho!" he yelled, over the pounding noise. "You're fresh meat!"

"I'm what?"

He smiled; he had a really nice smile. "You're new here!"

I looked around at the mass of people. "How can you tell?"

"You don't look like them. You look – clean. Innocent!"

I grimaced. It was like my virginity was a capital "V" on my chest. It was like I'd told Becks, after my last date's shy dick prevented even an attempt at copulation: sometimes I thought the only way I'd get laid is if I got raped.

Becks had found me; she held two mixed drinks. A screwdriver for me, I don't know what for her. It was blue and had a sucker in it for a stir stick. Rebecca took it out now and sucked on it. She looked at the "Ho" guy as she sucked. He watched, entranced, as she ran the candy in and out of her mouth, flicking her tongue over it. Feeling slightly jealous, I took a hefty swig of my drink. I was hoping to get buzzed enough to just get through this uncomfortable night. With my newly thin body, it probably would only take a few drinks to relax me.

The guy had his face close to Rebecca's. She had taken the sucker out of her mouth, and practically had her tongue in his ear. He stepped back, and then for some insane reason he held his hand out to me.

"Wanna dance?"

I did.

**ooOoo**

"Ho" guy (his name was Jack) danced with me, and then he _stayed_ with me. We danced the fast dances, until I couldn't catch my breath. We danced the slow dances, Jack's lips nuzzling my neck. In between dances, we talked (or yelled) with each other. He got me another screwdriver, and then a blue drink like Rebecca's. It was good – it tasted like cotton candy. The night was ending up a lot better than I'd expected.

* * *

_How did I get here? Why can't I move? It's dark. Oh my God my head **aches.** I'm so cold – I'm naked!_

**ooOoo**

I frantically search my mind, casting about for my last coherent memories. Slow dancing with Jack. Sitting in a booth, sitting _on_ Jack. My arms around his neck, his hands darting under my shirt to fondle my breasts in their new lacy bra. Jack's tongue in my mouth. Tasting beer in his kiss, inhaling his intoxicating cologne. Feeling a definite bulge in his pants as he pressed against me.

I remember a strange girl in the corner of the booth, a stunningly seductive girl whose alluring face shimmered vaguely in my thoughts. She'd had her hands all over Becks, and Becks had had _her_ hand up the girl's short skirt.

_What?_

Hot, so hot, and thirsty. Neon lights piercing my eyes, hurting.

And then . . . what? Feeling suddenly relaxed.The club spinning darkly around me. Had I passed out drunk? Or, had there been something _in_ my drinks? Jack had gotten me the drinks, but Becks had been right there - surely she'd have seen if Jack had roofied me.

Although she had been occupied, fingering that strange sexy girl.

But where the hell am I now? I'm think I'm on a bed. I'm nude, with no sheets or blanket covering me. The throbbing in my head is lessening slightly, but I am so thirsty. I'm shivering, and I can feel goosebumps all over my body. I wonder absently where my trendy new clothes are. And I just realized that it's dark because I'm blindfolded. My arms are resting above my head, and I attempt to drag them down, to take off the blindfold – but they won't move.

I'm naked and blindfolded, with my wrists tied to a bed frame. The night is ending up a lot worse than I'd expected.

**ooOoo**

As my consciousness comes back fully, I realize my headache and thirst are not the only sensations I feel. There is a definite warmth between my legs, and a wet slickness that I've never fully felt before, that I've never been able to properly accomplish with boys or with masturbation. And it's not like I'm a prude. I might technically still be a virgin, but I _have_ done things with guys, intimate things. Pleasuring them (I'm an "old hand" at hand jobs), or letting them try to pleasure me. One guy had even suggested we masturbate in front of each other, but when he came and I couldn't, I'd figured typical masturbation might not be enough for me. I'd taken to masturbating with unusual items, in the hopes of achieving that unattainable orgasm. I'd tried using the long, curved handle on the shower brush when in the tub or shower. I'd tried differently-handled screwdrivers (just like my favorite drink!), "borrowing" them from my father's tool box when I was home for Christmas. I'd even tried a curling iron (but not plugged in _–_ I was frustrated, not masochistic). Nothing - well, pleasurable enough, but no successful results. Now here I am, sexually excited to the point of wetness. _And all it took was my probable drugging and possible abduction,_ I think wryly.

Oh my God, I can hear someone breathing! Someone's here!

_Of course someone's here, how do you think you got here?_

"About time you woke up."

It's a man's voice. I think it's Jack. I could barely hear him at the club, with all the ambient noise, but I'm pretty sure it's him.

I'm breathing hard, butterflies beating in my stomach. But it doesn't feel like fear. As the butterfly sensation travels down, I realize it feels like desire. None of the guys I had been "intimate" with had made me feel quite this _hot._

I was getting turned on by fear.

The person who spoke is now next to me. I feel unknown hands roughly grab my breasts. My nipples are pinched painfully, and I wince, biting my lip. One hand then trails down my abdomen, past my navel. My body tenses, and I am unable to breathe. The hand is now in my crotch, and fingers tickle my vag.

"Wow. You're so wet. I thought I heard you were a dry bitch."

_Where would he hear that?_

The fingers suddenly jab inside me. I gasp in shock, and involuntarily arch my back. "Oh, you like that, huh?" The fingers pull out, then begin to explore. Pulling, rubbing, teasing, sliding up and down. Tickling my clit and stretching my entrance, exciting every inch of my pussy. The skilled fingers again penetrate me. They go deep, retract, thrust in again. Slow at first, then impossibly fast. It is ecstasy. I shudder and moan. I've had other guys' fingers down there, but never like this – never when I was tied up, blindfolded, helpless. It's . . . exhilarating.

What is wrong with me? This is basically sexual assault. I've given no consent, and I'm more aroused than I've ever been. Apparently I'm not a "vanilla" sex kind of girl. 

I think I'm just on the edge of the elusive climax, and then the fingers are abruptly gone. "No!" I cry, immediately missing the thrilling sensation. This "almost, but not quite" business has become infuriatingly familiar.

"You want more?"

"Yes!" _So much for not giving consent._

"Taste yourself first." The fingers are now in my mouth. This is new to me, but I suck greedily at his fingers, and I'm intrigued by my sweet-salty juices. _That's what I taste like? Not . . . bad._

Jack withdraws his hand but it doesn't leave my mouth – I can feel a whisper-soft touch, outlining my lips. My whole body shivers, and this time it's not because I'm cold.

I hear movement in a different part of the room. Another person, breathing hard, obviously enjoying the action. How many people are here watching, waiting their turn? Waiting to touch me, as I am naked and defenseless . . . God, am I going to be gang raped?

_Please oh please oh please oh_ _**please** _ _let me be gang raped._

I have no idea where that unsettling thought came from.

The first person (Jack?) draws his hand away from my mouth. I feel him changing position on the bed, to climb on top of me. I feel his skin, sweaty and hairy, pressing against my naked body. He's naked too - at least his bottom half is. There's a heaviness on my torso; I think he's positioned himself so that his knees are straddling my upper body, and he's practically sitting on my chest.

"Now taste me."

I can feel the heat from his dick before he touches it to my lips. I can feel the drip of liquid at the tip, as it falls off to dribble onto my chin. I obligingly open my mouth. And then his cock is in my mouth, past my lips and teeth, and pressing down on my tongue. I gag, disgusted and enthralled at the same time, and my lower regions explode in reaction.

Jack takes my head firmly between his hands. The pressure is just shy of painful. He pulls my head forward as he begins to grunt, quiet but insistent. I want to beat on his body, to grab him and hold on for dear life, but my wrists are attached to the bed frame. I want to scream in utter rapture, but I can only groan as I attempt to accommodate his throbbing member. I do my best to fondle his penis with my tongue, and to suck the correct way, but this is the first time I've had a guy in my mouth, and Jack's too impatient to let me learn on the (blow)job.

Jack's grunts have gotten louder, as his cock slides in and out of my mouth. I'm just starting to get accustomed to his pace when he suddenly thrusts himself farther in still, practically down my throat, and his balls hit my face. There's a repeated slapping sound, but it's echoing dimly. My head is spinning. I feel I will be suffocated or choked, and I'm dizzy. It's glorious. _At least I'll die with a smile on my face._

We orgasm at the same time.

I have never orgasmed before. My entire body seizes, and my brain is enveloped in a white light. I'm tingling from every part of my body. A shriek builds in my mind, and builds, and builds, until I think it will consume me. Unable to control my quivering muscles, I squeeze my mouth down hard on Jack's cock as hot liquid sprays back against my throat. I have no choice but to swallow, shuddering and gagging. His cum is sharp and somewhat bitter, but not entirely unpleasant. After Jack finishes shooting his spunk down my throat, he pulls out, and I feel him fall onto the bed next to me. I gasp for breath, panting in exhaustion. Even though I am blindfolded, I see stars.

My pussy is still clenching, vibrating. I can feel the mattress is wet under me, wet with my cum.

I float in passion. Maybe I sleep. I've almost recovered when I feel firm hands pushing my legs apart, moving my knees into a bent position. Then there's a head between my legs. The other person is down there, and it's not fingers this time. I'm being licked clean, by a tongue lapping up the cold cum smeared between my thighs. Then the tongue moves to my pussy, _caressing_ it. The tongue flits in and out of my pussy, bringing me to the brink and then pulling back, making me leak anew. There is obvious talent in the tongue, as it changes from circular licking to up and down with barely a pause. I writhe on the bed, lifting my feet and curling my toes. Sudden hands hold me still. Jack is holding my upper body, trying to keep me from moving, while the other person is gripping my ass. The licking ceases briefly, and I feel soft kisses on my lower lips. Then the wandering tongue resumes, again lapping at my juices. It is so exciting, I can't just _lie_ there. But since I'm partially restrained, I show my appreciation by moaning and groaning, sobbing in absolute pleasure.

"She's ready."

It's a low whisper, but I can tell it's a female voice. I've been eaten out by a chick? And I liked it.

Shit, I _loved_ it.

Was Becks right? Am I gay? _Bi?_

Jack speaks. _"Are_ you ready, Ginger?"

I can't respond, my mouth has gone dry with anticipation.

"Are you ready for me to fuck you, Ginger?"

"Y-yes!" I breathe out. "Oh, God. Yes!"

"Say please."

"Please! Please, I want you!"

Twenty-two is way too old to be a virgin.

Jack has moved to straddle me again. "Untie one of her wrists," I hear him direct. Quick fingers release the knot on the material that had restrained my right hand. "Feel how wet you are," he tells me.

My hand and arm ache with pins-and-needles, but I force my hand down between my legs. I can't believe how wet I am. No wonder I never had any pleasure before. I had no clue what I was doing, what I was actually capable of.

My hand is suddenly slapped away. Jack is breathing harder, and he violently shoves my legs farther apart with one of his knees. He is on top of me, but braced up, most likely on his hands. His head must be dropped; I can feel his hair brushing my face.

I had thought it not possible, but when he enters me, it is all I had ever hoped it could be, and more.

At first there is tremendous pain, enough to make me cry out, but it is brief and soon forgotten. His cock feels massive. I swear I can feel the tip all the way through me, tickling against the inside of my back. _I had that monstrosity in my **mouth**?_ Jack has lifted his head and he is grunting, muttering. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Ginger-Ginger-Ginger."

My legs lift to wrap around him. My right hand has found his back, and I pull him into me with my legs and arm. He pulls back slightly, starting to rock and gyrate against me as his cock slides in and out, in and out, in and out. With each thrust I gasp and tremble, and tears of joy fall from my eyes, soaking the blindfold. I buck my hips and time my movements to his. It's like an instinct takes over, like this body is not my own. I never knew I could do this, that it could be like this. What had I been waiting for? A steady boyfriend? Love? An engagement? Fuck that.

_Fuck me!_

I thought I had orgasmed before, when Jack came in my mouth. That was nothing compared to this. I disappear. I am no longer on the bed, in the room, on the earth. I am passion, I am joy, I am ecstasy. My body shakes and my back arches, my legs slipping off of Jack. I nearly tear my left wrist free; I am mildly aware of a pain in my arm, but it is nothing, it is a gnat in a hurricane. ** _I_ **am a gnat in a hurricane. I jerk with each crashing wave of bliss. My feet drum on the mattress.

I scream. I scream in thankfulness and relief and rapture. I press my face against Jack's strong chest and scream.

I am still screaming when Jack joins me, a guttural cry escaping his throat as he ejaculates into me, filling me with warm, wonderful cum. When he pulls out, I draw his body to me again, searching for his face. He lowers his face to mine and kisses me repeatedly, so hard my teeth hurt.

This time Jack doesn't fall beside me. He pulls himself off the bed, and I hear him say, in between labored breaths, "Untie her other arm."

Hands on my left arm now, and as it is released it falls limply; the mild pain becomes more pronounced. Sprained, maybe dislocated. Small price to pay.

"Take off the blindfold. Let her see."

I am seized with excitement. I will be able to see Jack, naked. And the girl, whoever she is. I'd only heard her voice once, and hadn't been able to place the low murmur.

A smaller body on top of me now, grinding lightly against me. I can smell her perfume; it is . . . familiar. Before her hands untie the blindfold, a small mouth fits over mine, and the tongue that had licked my slit is now in my mouth. The kiss is long, the girl moaning as she Frenches me. I lift my arms to embrace her, my left arm moving stiffly, and feel her naked breasts press heavily against mine. My hands move, then, to awkwardly caress the considerable mounds. The girl whimpers, shuddering.

She breaks the kiss, reaches around my head, and unties the blindfold. I blink in the sudden light, trying to get my bearings. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust.

Becks is sitting on top of me.

I stare at my best friend. She is straddling me, unconcerned in her nakedness. I have seen her nearly nude before – in a bikini on the beach, in a towel after a shower. But I have never seen her like this. Not a stitch of clothing, her face flushed and her hair messy, her lips still swollen from our kiss.

She is beautiful.

Her lips – her tongue – had been in my pussy!

I turn my head to look at Jack (and it is Jack), sprawled naked in a nearby chair, looking spent. He is dozing, his defined chest heaving, his hands in his lap near his generously-sized penis. _That had been in my pussy, too._

I look back at Rebecca. "You – you did this. For me. Him. _You._ " I am in awe.

She shrugs modestly. "What are friends for?" she asks, then smiles.

"And I was right, Ginger – you were delish."

_**-More to cum-** _


	2. Rebecca's Point of View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the first chapter, Ginger described her night at the club, and the surprising events that occurred afterward. In this chapter, Ginger's best friend Becks details her role in those events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically the same scenes from the first chapter, only from Rebecca's POV. There is also some exposition/backstory, so it's a little longer than the first chapter. We learn more about Jack, and about the strange, seductive girl that Becks "plays with" in the booth at the club. I tried to add a few more tags to fit with this chapter. 
> 
> As before, I don't advocate the choices made in this story. I just write them. ;)
> 
> Please read, enjoy, and comment!

It was my idea to go to The Dry Dock, but I didn't have to convince Ginger as much as I'd thought. I think she was on the same page as me, realizing that she needed a change in routine. Ginger still thought of herself as an undesirable fat girl. A new outfit, a night of dancing and drinking – and maybe more – with people who didn't know she used to be fat. . . I was hoping it would knock her out of her growing depression. I had been getting worried about her, especially when it came to her sexual health.

Ginger and I had known each other since middle school, when she still went by Virginia. Once we hit our junior year in high school, we were really close friends, close enough that when we both got accepted to the same college, we pulled every string possible so we could be dorm mates. And Ginger and I got to know each other even better. I told her I had lost my virginity at fourteen. She told me she was still a virgin. We went out to celebrate her 21st birthday, and she got sloppy drunk on screwdrivers and threw up smelly orange juice all over my Converse low-tops. We went out to celebrate my 21st birthday and I got so sloppy drunk I don't even remember getting back to the dorm. The first thing I remember is lying on the bathroom floor, too hung-over to even flush the toilet after I'd puked. 

No, actually I'd been lying in Ginger's lap. She'd been sitting on the bathroom floor with me, stroking my hair and wiping my sweaty face with a washcloth.

Just last month, I told Ginger how I'd stolen some of my mom's Ambien the last time I'd been home. She told me she'd masturbated with some of her dad's tools the last time _she'd_ been home.

It was a little over six months ago when Ginger finally decided she'd had enough of the dating restrictions that came with being overweight. I had helped her with her diet. When she'd really struggled that first month or so, often breaking her diet and binge eating on fast food or snacks, I had taught her the best way to purge. Ginger had her own tricks, too – if she was prevented from puking right after overeating, either because she didn't have enough time or because she was in a bad location, she'd take a laxative. She tried a couple of different brands and types before she found one that was efficient and predictable.

But even after Ginger had lost the weight and was looking fine – and I mean _fine_ , sometimes when I wasn't expecting it I'd look at her and feel stirrings down _there_ – she still had problems dating. She went out with creepy nerdy guys, or insecure Mama's boys, and I think she picked them specifically because she knew they were too chicken to try and lay her. (Chicken, lay, get it? Damn, I'm funny.) She was on the pill - we both were - so I didn't think she was worried about getting pregnant . . . although so far, there'd been little chance of that. Ginger had been felt up and finger-fucked and had gotten her cunt lapped, and she'd done hand jobs, and she and one of her dates had masturbated in front of each other. No possibility of an unwanted pregnancy with those activities. In fact, Ginger claimed she hadn't ever had an orgasm, not even when the guy had eaten her out. "He was just - 'eh'," she had said. "I mean, I guess he thought he was all that, but all I could think was, 'I'm missing Jimmy Fallon for this?'"

Ginger hadn't given a blow job yet, and I had offered to give her some pointers on how to go down on a guy, like my mom had done for me. I'd even gone so far as to bring home some insanely huge bananas from the market. But Ginger had declined, saying she didn't know if she was ready yet to do the ol' spit versus swallow. I'm pretty sure she stuck one of the bananas in her pussy, though. I found a slightly mangled one in the bathroom garbage can.

It was sad to see how much it bothered Ginger that she still hadn't had her cherry popped. She felt she was partly to blame, being stuck in the fat Ginger's head.

"I swear, Becks," she told me one night after another date ended without a home run, "I'm beginning to think the only way I'll ever get laid is if I get raped."

And that's when I came up with my brilliant idea. . .

* * *

When Ginger came out of the fitting room in the sheer white top and the short black skirt, my heart skipped a beat. I complimented her when she seemed unsure of the outfit choice, thinking the skirt was too short. When I took her arm to drag her in front of the mirror, it was like an electric shock passed from her skin to mine.

Two days later, when Ginger was studying in the campus library, I called Jack and revised our plan.

"Tell Darius he's out."

Jack was quiet for a moment. "What, are you calling it off?"

"No!" I was immediately defensive. "No," I started again, a little softer, "I just don't want him there. You gotta get rid of him."

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Jack laughed. "Guy has chicks inviting him over practically every night. The ladies all want a taste of his big black cock." Jack paused again, and then asked, "What, you think it's too much for her?"

"I don't know. Maybe for her first time. But she's freaky; you know she stuck a curling iron up her vag?"

"No shit."

"Yeah. So I really think she'll surprise us. But I still want Darius gone. You can tell him it's off, or that we decided two guys would be _too_ rape-y, I don't care."

"Are you sure?" Jack pressed. "I thought you were really pumped for her to lose her cherry to Darius. You know, vulnerable, innocent virgin defiled by big, bad, black wolf?"

I smirked at Jack's depiction of Darius. I'd met his roommate, and the main impression I'd gotten was that he was a sweet, attentive guy. One of the reasons I'd wanted Darius to fuck Ginger first, before Jack, was because I thought he'd be more gentle with her, while at the same time "preparing" her for Jack's turn.

Although there _was_ Darius' indifference to Jack's proclivity for sexual assault. Not to mention that Jack indicated Darius was often his wingman when he went hunting at The Dry Dock. Maybe the big, bad wolf description wasn't too far off. My smirk waned.

"I was kinda looking forward to it, too," Jack continued. "Thought we could make our own fun while we watched, you know . . . So you could get me ready for my go at her."

"I know," I said, "but we _can_ still have fun. We don't need Darius. You do the deed."

"I'd be happy to." I could hear the appreciation, as well as greed, in Jack's voice. "Okay, that takes care of me, but what about you?"

"I want to be the second."

"You – you said you just wanted to watch. That you could get your rocks off that way." Now it was incredulity that tinged Jack's words.

"I changed my mind."

Jack huffed, but I went on. "Don't you see, it works better that way. You pick her up at the Dry Hump, she gets 'over-served,' and we have to get her home. It won't look so much like she's been roofied if her best friend is helping her get home safe."

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" Jack responded dryly.

It had been all I _could_ think about, after going shopping with Ginger and watching her pull the clothes on and off in the fitting rooms, looking at her newly small tummy and her (now) perfectly-sized breasts. Her nipples had shown through her bra, as well as through the material of the new blouse I'd convinced her was "perfect." The perfection of the "cold shoulder" top lay in the fact that the thin material exposed her hard nipples, and the open sleeve tops exposed her smooth creamy white shoulders.

I redirected my thoughts, knowing Ginger would be home soon. "Hey, don't bust my chops," I said to Jack. "You know you still want to do it."

I had been "seeing" Jack for a couple of weeks, since he'd tried to pick me up at The Dry Dock. He'd kept attempting to bring drinks to me, and while I was fine with him buying me drinks, I would only take them from the bartender. After I caught Jack dropping something in my third Lolly, I'd dumped the drink out on the floor, grabbed Jack by his crotch, and had growled that if he'd really wanted to have sex with me that bad, he should've just asked. After we'd fucked that night, he had told me how he'd planned to blindfold me, tie me to the bed, and use me. And I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been a little turned-on. And, possibly, a little disappointed that it hadn't happened that way. He'd offered to tie me up, but honestly, without the danger and mystery that would have come from the drugging and the blindfold, just having my arms tied up didn't seem as exciting.

"And you still think she'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I told you – she's ready for this. She _needs_ this." _And so do I._ "But I don't want her blacked out. I want her to remember it, to know what's going on. That's the whole point."

"Well, I don't usually want them to remember," Jack mumbled. "I thought you said you had something for her?"

"I do. . ." I had already sliced one of my mother's Ambiens into the smallest possible piece. "Just a little something, a _tiny_ dose. It'll put her to sleep, but not all night." At least, that's what I hoped.

"If she freaks out or OD's, it's on you."

"I know, I know. So you're gonna tell Darius he's out?"

* * *

Jack and Ginger had been dancing and drinking for at least an hour, and I had been getting jealous. I knew Jack was just playing his part, but damn if he didn't look like he was enjoying it, enjoying _her_.

The funny thing was, as I watched Ginger dancing and kissing and getting felt up by the guy I'd been seeing, I wasn't jealous of her. I was jealous of Jack.

I had gone to the bar for another Lolly, and to grab a beer for Jack. As I'd waited for our order, I'd seen a girl sitting on a bar stool, with slow tears dripping into her untouched drink. As I'd looked at her, I had realized she was one half of the lesbian couple Ginger had been staring at when we'd first arrived.

"Um, you okay?"

The girl had shaken her head sharply. She had long dark hair and caramel-colored skin and slightly oval eyes. She had a stud in her eyebrow, and a tattoo around her neck that looked like a choker necklace. Later, when I was feeling her up in the booth, I'd gotten a closer look at the tattoo and had seen that it was a ring of thorns.

The bartender had delivered my drinks. After paying him, I'd turned to go back to our booth, but then turned back again to the silently crying girl.

"Hey, why don't you come sit with me?"

**ooOoo**

Ginger is on her third (or is it fourth?) drink when I get back to the table. It's the Lolly I'd dropped the Ambien into when she'd been looking away, doing so right before I'd gone up to the bar. She's only had a few sips. She looks up blearily as the two of us approach the booth.

"This is Zara," I say, indicating my guest. "Her girlfriend got a call from her ex, and she needs a friend." I direct Zara to the other side of the booth, and she scoots into the far corner. I scoot in next to her, purposefully near.

"Ooh, that sucks," Ginger says. Only her words slur a little, and it sounds like, "Ooh, zhat shucks." She is snuggled so close to Jack she is almost in his lap. He does not seem unhappy with this arrangement.

I look at Jack pointedly. He nods at Ginger's nearly full drink. I sigh. _Better enjoy the wait._

Over the next twenty minutes, Zara and I get to know each other. Like, intimately. She finds out that I'm not wearing a bra, and I find out that she's not wearing any panties. We are mutually surprised with the pleasant discoveries. But while it is harder for Zara to play with my tits without anyone seeing, I can finger her twat under the table and the only one who notices is Ginger. She's been pretty heavy with Jack for a while herself – it might even be the reason I am so horny for Zara. Watching Ginger get French-kissed and fondled has gotten me totally aroused.

"Becks."

"Mmm?" I am almost done fingering Zara. We are both panting pretty heavily, looking into each other's eyes.

"Rebecca!"

I force myself to look away, glaring at Jack. I see that Ginger is out cold, her head lolled on Jack's chest.

"Shit!" I pull my hand free, wiping it on Zara's skirt. "What the fuck?" she swears.

Jack is rising from the booth, pulling Ginger with him. I get up and go around on the other side. I look apologetically at Zara.

"My friend. She had too much to drink. I gotta get her home."

Zara rises from the booth as well, tossing her hair. She comes close to me, leaning in.

"After you get Barbie home, come back here, and we can finish." She grins at me, then opens her mouth wide and waggles her tongue. I can see the glint of the silver stud in the middle of her tongue.

" _Becks!"_

I reluctantly tear myself away from Zara, and take Ginger under one arm. As Jack and I half-carry, half-drag her to the exit, I chance one last look at Zara. She is watching us, watching _me_ , and when she sees me look back, she raises her shirt to flash me.

She isn't wearing a bra, either.

ooOoo

I sit outside on the curb, holding Ginger up, while Jack gets his car. When he pulls up, he gets out to help me hoist Ginger into the rear seat, laying her on her back. I climb in the back as well, and I lift Ginger's head to place it on my lap. Jack gets back in the front, then drives away from the club.

Ginger stirs. "Jackie?" she moans, "whr'you?"

I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. "It's okay, Ginny. Sleep."

We drive on. I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, dozing on my alcohol buzz.

In my half-doze, I don't immediately hear the strangled, gurgling sound. When I finally come to my senses, I look down at Ginger. I don't know when she started vomiting, but she is now choking on it.

"Jack! Jack _, pull over!"_

Jack glances into the rear mirror, curses, and then hits the brakes so hard Ginger tumbles off my lap onto the floor. The sudden change in position is apparently all that was needed. As soon as Ginger is no longer on her back, the puke explodes out of her mouth. Her body lurches as she projectile vomits. The puke sprays on the floorboard, on the base of the seat, on my legs, on her clothes. It's everywhere.

Jack had opened up the back door, and he now pulls back in horror. "Jesus, Becks!"

I fall on the floor next to Ginger, not caring that I'm kneeling in vomit. "OhmyGod. OhmyGod. She was choking. She wasn't breathing! Ginger? Ginger!"

Jack is holding his hands out in front of him. "Don't ask me to give her mouth-to-mouth. Not with that shit all over her."

I look up at him quickly. "Fuck you." I turn back to Ginger. The overhead light in the car had turned on when the doors were opened. It's not much, but it's enough. I can see Ginger's chest rising and falling normally. I see her eyes open. They are glassy and unfocused. They look at me without really seeing me.

"I puked."

I pull Ginger into an embrace, sobbing with relief. She doesn't respond, and I see that her eyes are closed. She's out again.

My whole body is trembling with shock, but somehow I drag Ginger back up onto the seat. Jack watches, repeatedly shaking his head. He slowly walks back to the front of the car, climbing in behind the wheel. "All I gotta say, Becks, is this better be worth it. Because I'm never gonna get that smell outta my car."

**ooOoo**

We need to strip Ginger once we get to Jack's. Jack and I had initially thought about leaving some of Ginger's clothes on, for Jack to rip off during, but the puke bath necessitated a change in plans. Hell, I need to strip, too. The puke had even soaked through to my underwear.

Jack finds a garbage bag for me to throw my and Ginger's clothes into. I wonder what I'm going to wear when we leave. I'm not even sure I want my puke-splattered clothes back. After washing up, I grab an old tee-shirt of Jack's, pulling it on over my head.

Ginger is laying on the bed, still out cold. I look at her critically. "She needs a shower."

"That'll wake her up. Just do a whore's bath." Jack heads for the door. "I'm gonna try to hose down my car. I won't be gone long."

You would think that Darius and Jack's apartment, being a bachelor pad, wouldn't have a lot of girly amenities. But both guys entertain women a lot – mostly separately, sometimes together. Either way, there is a bin of definitely feminine products in their bathroom. Tampons and liners, scented body soaps, clean washcloths and sponges, even a bottle of expensive perfume, left behind by a random paramour - it's my brand, and I wonder who else Jack or Darius has seen that uses my perfume. Before I get a warm soapy cloth for Ginger's sponge bath, I spray some of the perfume on myself. It helps get the puke smell out of my nose.

I approach the bed with the washcloth. Ginger is still asleep. I sit on the bed next to her and begin to wash her. I start with her face, and even dampen her hair a little. Then I move down her body. Her shoulders, her arms, her jiggly breasts. A drop of water glistens on one of her nipples, and I bend down to lick it off. I linger at her breasts, fitting one into each hand and massaging them until her nipples harden, even in her sleep.

I go back to the bathroom to refresh the cloth, then return to Ginger. I wash her stomach, her yummy thighs, her lower legs and her feet. I save her genitals for last. One more trip to the bathroom, one more re-wetting and squeezing out of the cloth. Then I'm between her legs. Down to her anus, poking my finger in just a little. And on to her pussy.

A little over a week ago, when I'd had the rough outline for this night, I took Ginger to a spa as a late birthday present. We both got our muffs waxed. For me, it was just a touch-up. I'd been basically hairless down there since I started getting my period, something my mother had strongly advised. For Ginger, it was the first time she'd been landscaped. She was a little nervous about getting a complete waxing, like me. We reached a compromise – everything gone except for a small design, typically called The Bermuda Triangle. The pubic hair that remained was in the shape of a "V." V for Virginia.

I touch her little "V" now, watching as the hairs curl back into shape after I stroke them. I part her lips with one hand, the other hand holding the cloth. I stroke her, gently and reverently. Around in little circles. Along the sides, back and forth, my head and face lowering closer and closer . . .

"Becks." Jack has come back inside.

I stop stroking Ginger, but I don't move.

"Becks. Stop it. She's clean." Jack moves forward. "I'm going first. We agreed."

I straighten myself with some effort. I'm aware that I'm wet; not having any underwear on, I can feel my juices oozing out and onto my upper thighs. I take the washcloth and swab myself.

Jack watches with a leering grin. "Damn, Becks. You got it bad for her."

"Can you blame me?" I look at Ginger lying naked on the bed, nearly spread eagle. Her arms, not yet tied, are resting above her head. Her legs are parted from when I was washing her vag. She is young and fresh and clean and virginal, and oh-so-fuckable. As Jack and I stare at the vision before us, Ginger begins to moan, marginally moving her head.

"Shit. She's gonna wake up. Help me get her ready."

Jack has his toys in the drawer next to the bed. He pulls out three scarves, tossing one to me. I drop the washcloth, grabbing the scarf to tie up Ginger's right arm. Jack binds the left. I see his hands are shaking as he pulls the knot tight.

It seems he has it bad, too.

The last scarf is darker, and Jack folds it several times until it is opaque. This scarf goes over Ginger's eyes.

Then we both sit down, me in the chair and Jack on the edge of the bed. And we wait.

**ooOoo**

When it is obvious Ginger is nearly awake, Jack strips. He then leans his naked body down near Ginger, and runs his fingers over her, light and nimble. He plays with her breasts, lowering his head to suck on her erect nipples. I watch in aroused envy. Ginger mumbles unintelligibly, and Jack sits up, moving away. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"You said you wanted her to be awake, right? Awake and scared and not knowing what to expect. . . That'll get me hard. Then I can really start."

It's only about ten minutes before Ginger starts to move with purpose. She pulls at her arms, and begins to breathe harder when she realizes she's tied up. Jack moves closer again, and I see Ginger's head move toward the sound. Her face is flushed with . . . well, not exactly fear.

It is more like longing, desire.

Jack penetrates her pussy with his fingers, and Ginger's body receives them without complaint. I know from experience that Jack is an artist down there with just his hand. He's actually made me climax just by caressing me and rubbing me and stroking me, and then working intensely and furiously at my clit. Didn't even need his tongue. I start masturbating without even realizing it, my fingers deep inside me. 

When Jack pulls his fingers out, Ginger cries out against their absence. In that moment I am so proud of her. And I know that this night was definitely the right decision.

Jack follows the fingering by making Ginger taste his now-slick fingers, and I automatically taste my own. Then Jack straddles Ginger in a prisoner position, and forces her to give him head. I watch as Jack grabs Ginger's head, supporting it as he fucks her face. I'm oozing again, utterly absorbed and enthralled. When Ginger orgasms, her mouth clamping down on Jack's cock as she reflexively pulls her head back, he is pulled forward and has to grab onto the bed frame to keep his balance. I watch him empty his wad into Ginger's throat, and see it convulse as she swallows the cum. My wet pussy tingles and twitches with each gulp Ginger takes.

After pulling his slimy, shiny dick out of Ginger's mouth, Jack collapses next to her. I let him rest for a little while – it appears Ginger is resting, too. Her wet lips are parted, and she breathes deeply, occasionally still trembling in orgasmic bliss.

When I can't take the waiting anymore, I nudge Jack in the direction of the chair.

I pull the tee-shirt off and climb onto the bed in between Ginger's legs. I move her legs apart, bending them to better expose her muff. And I begin to lick. I lick at the cum that had oozed during her orgasm, not caring that it is now cold. I nuzzle her thighs. I dart my tongue inside her lips, feeling her vag muscles pulse and contract.

Ginger begins to move unexpectedly, kicking my shoulder with a foot. I bite my tongue, swearing softly. Suddenly Jack is at my side, and he places his strong hands near Ginger's waist, holding on in an attempt to prevent her from moving. I slide my arms under Ginger's rear, grabbing on and pulling her closer. I kiss her slit tenderly, then continue licking, pushing my tongue farther in. She starts to leak again, warm juices for me to drink. She's so inviting, so sweet. I don't even mind the pubic hair tickling my tongue. I can hear Ginger moaning and crying out in satisfaction. I feel immensely honored that I can produce that reaction from her.

When I'm assured I have Ginger ready for the main event, I pull back. "She's ready," I whisper to Jack.

He directs me to undo the scarf on one arm. I release her right hand, and watch the slack amazement appear on her face as she explores her cunt, feeling how wet she's become, how ready.

This time, though, I try not to watch. It's just too much, too intense. I know watching Ginger finally lose her virginity will cause me to orgasm into a million tiny little pieces, and I want to be able to function, I want to be able to reveal myself to her.

But when Ginger has her second orgasm, I stare in wonder. She is a wild beast. Her body bucks and writhes on the bed. Her head tosses violently from side to side, and I see tears leak from under the blindfold. Then she arches her back and slides out of her embrace with Jack. Her left arm pulls violently at its restraint, and I hear a "pop" from somewhere in her arm. Ginger doesn't even seem to respond to the injury. Her body has began to jerk underneath Jack. Her feet drum uncontrollably on the mattress. For one terrified second I think she is having a seizure. And then she screams in ecstasy. And screams. And screams.

When they have finished, Jack barely makes it off the bed to fall in the chair. Following his weak commands, I untie Ginger's left arm. I wince as I watch it limply fall free, wondering if it's broken, or maybe dislocated.

"Take off the blindfold. Let her see."

I climb up onto Ginger to undo the blindfold. The fragrant puddle of her and Jack's cum soaks into the sheets underneath us - the scent is heady, enticing. So I take my time. I grind against Ginger. I kiss her, sticking my tongue in to explore. She reaches for me, her left arm fumbling, and then begins to play with my breasts. Even with the bad arm, her touch is electrifying. I feel a responsive jolt deep inside me, and I whimper into her beautiful mouth.

When I take off the blindfold, Ginger stares at me in an unseeing way for a few moments. Then the recognition hits her face, and her eyes widen in disbelief. I sit back, straddling her waist, and smile.

Ginger's disbelief changes to awe, as she realizes exactly what Jack and I did for her. What she doesn't realize is that this night was as fulfilling for me as it was for her. This is something I've been wanting for years. Her, _all_ of her. She's just _so_ delish _._

The awe on Ginger's face has been replaced with yearning. She awkwardly lifts her hands, holding them out to me. "Come here."

And I go to her.

**-fin-**

**Author's Note:**

> I see I've gotten some Kudos - appreciate it! Thanx!
> 
> Any comments are welcome!


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